


All I Have

by verovex



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: 3x07 canon divergence, And Doesn’t Die, Ed thinks Gotham General is an Inadequate Hospital, Fluff and Angst, Injured Os, Isabella Helps Make Sense Of Illogical Thoughts, Ivy is a Fan, Love Confessions, M/M, One-Track Mind Ed, Os Makes Hazy Confessions, Rating for Parrilla Torture, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-28 18:28:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12612708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verovex/pseuds/verovex
Summary: The commotion of the GCPD interrupting Tetch’s takeover of the Founders’ Dinner causes an involuntary twitch against the trigger of the pistol still trained on Oswald.Jim is half a second too late in stopping the impact. The resulting call Ed receives at the mansion disrupts his date with Isabella and sends him spiralling.





	1. Catalyst

**Author's Note:**

> In the middle of writing Isabell _a_ scenes for a separate story, and re-watching S3 ~~for the tenth time~~ , this divergence happened. It also stemmed from the [Paleyfest 2016 Panel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fZqpT7T9Fpo&t=1692s) where CMS had said Ed isn’t exactly intimidated by villains, so if he met Jervis Tetch, he’d be like: _”Oh, you rhyme, that’s cute.”_

"You _idiot_ ," Oswald spat out, clutching the gaping _hole_ where the bullet had burrowed into his stomach, as blood pooled over his hands, the sound of it making him queasy with dread.

Jim wheeled around the corner into the dining hall, gun raised, taking more time than normal to realize it’s _Oswald_  who’s been shot. Oswald’s beginning to teeter in and out of consciousness as Jervis Tetch is aggressively slammed into the wall by Bullock (Oswald taking a hazed moment through the pain to appreciate it with a dulled smirk).

Harvey proceeds to holster his weapon, pulling handcuffs from his belt, while spewing something about _rights,_ and somehow simultaneously yelling at Jim to focus on helping Penguin.

Oswald’s vaguely connecting the dots of why he feels like he’s about to fall out of his chair, finding that he’s not able to speak coherently, other than sporadic hushed insults in Tetch’s direction. Jim seems to have found composure from his stupor of disbelief, coming to his knees next to Oswald’s chair, keeping him steady. Jim’s trying to keep him alert, snapping his fingers in front of the kingpin’s face.

 _“Where’s the damn ambulance?”_  Jim’s voice is faint, no longer sounding like he’s right next to him, even though he’s _right there._  

It’s _too_  disorienting, from the mixture of burning pain to the deafening sounds of loud chatter from Gotham’s elite, circling around to watch the King of Gotham fall. His death isn’t supposed to be such a facile victory. At the hands of such a _moron,_ with little tact and such ignorant regard for what Oswald’s allies could _do_  to enact revenge.

It’s becoming difficult to properly plan how to achieve vengeance —malevolence and fury dissipating into fatigue as paramedics are pulling Oswald onto a gurney, and then into the ambulance— Jim yelling at them to drive _faster,_  while Oswald’s being prodded with a needle.

Oswald’s becoming frightfully aware that this doesn’t _feel_  like previous injuries have, this one lingers with impressive intent to pry Oswald from the very life he had learned to find cryptic joy in. It’s a solemn realization of what he’s at risk to lose, and that giving in to _this_ meant he’d always been easy to remove from Gotham’s grasp.

There’s a sudden thought that lurches him upwards, only to find he’s restrained by an arm across his chest, loud sirens whirling around him — _how had he not heard them before?_  

It still sounds much too far away, but he can make out that Jim is urging him to _stay in place_ , to _let them work,_ but none of that is what concerns him. It takes him what seems like an _eternity_  to rasp out whose safety he’s more worried with: “What about Ed?”

Jim’s not sure how to respond, confused mostly since Oswald’s Chief Of Staff wasn’t in attendance at the Founders’ Dinner. “He’s fine,” is how he chooses to soothe a dying man’s distress, earning what sounds like ‘ _good_ ’, before Oswald flattened into the gurney, completely unmoving, causing the paramedic to fly forward in alarm.

* * *

"Ed?” There’s a concerned hand on his shoulder, but the pressure felt feathery light. “Eddie?”

The whole room was spinning. He was vaguely aware the phone was still against his ear, fingers twitching as he held it there, Jim’s voice on the other end providing little relief to his crumbling state of mind.

_Something about Gotham General._

_Something about Jervis Tetch._

_’It’s a shame I don’t have a plus one.’_

He should’ve been there, after all.

_Something about Oswald being shot._

_Something about a virus and..._

_‘I hope you know, Oswald, I would do anything for you. You can always count on me.’_

Except he had already failed at that task, and now there was Jim, who _had_  been there, still in his ear—

“— _they don’t know if he’s going to make it_ —“

That’s enough for Ed to drop the phone, the attached coiled cord preventing it from hitting the floor. Isabella is quick to pick it up, bringing it to her ear as Jim had been repeatedly calling Ed’s name.

”I’m sorry, it seems Edward’s a little out of sorts, can he call you back?” Isabella tries, unsure of what had transpired in the conversation, but hoping it would suffice.

 _”This can’t wait.”_  Jim breathes out heavily into the receiver. “ _Just- just get him to Gotham General, would you?”_

“Yes, of course. Of course.” Still bewildered, but with new context, Isabella bids goodbye to whoever had been on the other end, hanging the phone up on the hook. She turns to scan over Ed’s blanched face, noting he’d begun to speak to himself at an inaudible tone. “Eddie? We need to go,” earning no response, even after a tug at his wrist, “do you hear me?”

The front door to the Van Dahl mansion is swung violently against the opposing wall, startling Isabella, but kept Edward motionless and apoplectic. Several footsteps bound down the hall into the living area, Zsasz and Gabriel entering with two Zsaszettes in tow.

”Boss Number Two, we have a _problem.”_ Zsasz starts, before noticing Edward’s trembling hands, one still raised next to his ear, the other curled in a fist at his side. “Good, you already know. Saves me an explanation.”

”Where were _you_?” Ed snaps, finally coming out of whatever stupefied state he’d been in, plans spiralling around in his mind while looking between Oswald’s longest standing bodyguards. “Both of _you!_  He pays you enough to keep him safe, how did—“

”We don’t have time for this.” Zsasz interrupts. “Berate us on the way, would you?”

 _Yes_ , he’s right, of course he’s right, he needs to _leave_ , needs to be there in case—

Gabriel’s disappeared out of the room as Edward tries to find pertinent belongings, keys, wallet- _Isabella!_  He whirls around, finding her still where he’d left her, next to the phone, looking utterly _terrified_  by the individuals who had swarmed into the mansion.

She and him had been at the start of a conversation Ed had dreaded having, but knew it would come up at some point. His nefarious wrongdoings of the past would always haunt him, he’d been surprised she didn’t already know, and hadn’t already cut off all communication with him.

Now the evening was in a tailspin. 

He came up to stand in front of her, resting his hands on either side of her elbows. “I’m sorry our date has to be cut short.”

Isabella waves a hand, dismissing his concern with a warm smile. “No, it’s fine. I understand. My car is just outside, I’ll be going as soon as you’ve left.”

Edward leans forward to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering longer than intended as he hears a not-so-subtle cough from Zsasz a few feet away.

“Clock’s tickin’, Chief.”

”Let me know if you need me there. I can skip the conference.” Isabella offers, although it seems to fall on deaf ears as Gabriel comes back into the room, tossing Edward a pine coloured overcoat.

”I’ll call you.” Edward states distantly, following the four individuals out of the manor to the town car already idling in the driveway.

Gabriel climbs into the back of the vehicle, as the two Zsaszettes sit up front with the stone-faced driver Oswald had inherited with the Van Dahl name. Zsasz pats the seat next to him as Edward climbs in, keeping an absurd amount of distance between them. He had half a mind to stab Zsasz in the throat with how _livid_  he was, the switchblade in his jacket pocket felt like it’d been burning a hole against his side. He’d likely never hear the end of it from Oswald, killing his best kept assassin didn’t seem justified by the simple _urge_ to calm his anger.

There was also the fact Zsasz could kill him first.

”What’s the plan?” Zsasz perked up, as the car rolled into reverse, wheeling far enough back before shifting into drive, and weaving down the long driveway, leaving through the steel gates of the property.

”Where is he?” Ed asks, scrutinizing the skin on the sides of his nails, beginning to ferociously pick at them. 

Zsasz and Gabriel share a look, unsure which _he_  Ed was referring to.

” _Jervis Tetch_ , where is _he?_ ” Ed clarifies, pulling too much skin off one and causing it to bleed. Ed makes a disappointed sound at the back of his throat, bringing his finger in between his teeth, the copper taste flooding his senses.

‘ _That’s an unsanitary habit_ ,’ he recalls Oswald telling him a few weeks prior, when he found Ed in a somewhat panicked state, floundering over mounds of paperwork at City Hall. _‘I believe you’re due for a reprieve.’_ Oswald had so quickly evaluated Ed’s distress, despite having shown no signs other than the lifelong habit he’d attempted multiple times to break. Oswald came up behind him, closing the folder he had been dwelling over for what seemed like hours. _‘Lunch? I found—’_

 _’I can’t.’_  Edward sighed, moving to open the folder again, but found Oswald’s grip on it unrelenting. ‘ _I take it that hadn’t been a request.’_

 _‘Nope, it had very much been a demand.’_ He didn’t need to turn around to tell that Oswald featured a triumphant smile, it was laced in his tone.

The lunch had extended into two hours, Oswald bringing him into the relaxed mood he only seemed capable of when they spent time with one another. They’d been preoccupied with weeks of political drivel, and despite living under the same roof, traveling mostly together, and attending numerous events — most conversations related back to _work_ , from the underworld to City Hall. Some part of him wished they could still be confined to his old apartment, but that wasn’t meant to negate his appreciation for the shift in career.

Even now, with Isabella in the mix, he felt as if he’d been particularly neglectful towards Oswald. What had been his last conversation with him? Oswald had seemed so _concerned_  with something in the last number of weeks. He’d tried multiple times to talk to him, frequently retracting _whatever_  had been on his mind. Edward should’ve been more attentive, he’d even blown off Oswald’s invitation for dinner, having spent twelve hours with Isabella instead.

They were still twenty minutes out from Gotham General, Ed continued to chide himself for being negligent towards the one person who’d given him his life back, in an improved form. The anguish he felt had started to curdle against his chest. His head felt heavy upon the perch of his shoulders, his vision beginning to blur. All he could focus on was how _loud_  his heartbeat was, added with the _ringing_ drowning out everything else, from Zsasz’s incessant tapping against the leather seats, to Gabriel’s impaired lung function causing him to breathe irritatingly loud. Edward couldn’t _control_ the speed at which his own diaphragm was violently contracting, breathing becoming laboured and uneven. 

Everything was _spinning_  again. He didn’t hear Zsasz’s answer, didn’t hear Gabe calling his name, couldn’t tell that he had pulled the blade from his pocket, snapping it open, and in one fell swoop plunging it into the seat in front of him. Everything seemed to come to a barrelling halt, even the limousine, as Edward found focus, and proper silence around him.

”I want him _dead._ ” Edward seethes, pulling the blade out from the cushion, folding it over, and letting it slide back into his pocket.

”Sure thing.” Zsasz replies, unperturbed from the episode he’d just witnessed. He’d seen plenty of similar instances with Oswald’s temper, he supposed it was why they seemed to get along. “Any methods in particular?”

”Where is Tetch?”

”He’s being detained at the GCPD,” Zsasz repeated his reply, realizing now that Ed truly hadn’t heard him earlier. “He’ll likely be moved to Arkham overnight.”

”See to it he doesn’t make it to the asylum,” Ed’s thoughts roam to exactly how he wants to _destroy_  Tetch, gaze distant as the thrill of having him beg under Ed’s care sends a streak of warmth up his spine. “Except _I_ get to make an example out of him. Call ahead to the Sirens, I believe Miss Kean owes us a favour.”

* * *

Jim is in the lobby of the Emergency Room, prepped with information from the lead surgeon, as Edward enters, whispers immediately erupting around the waiting area. Jim proceeds to pull Edward by the shoulder, moving through the sliding mechanical doors that read ‘ _Authorized Personnel Only’_ , Zsasz and Gabriel following closely behind them. 

“I should’ve got you to come through a separate entrance, the press is going to have a field day.” Jim’s exhaustion is prevalent, as he presses his fingers into the inner edges of his eyes. “Dr. Calvi is with him now, it’s going to be a couple of hours before he’s out of the woods.”

“ _Mario_  Calvi?” Edward stressed, coming to realize that if things could be worse, they were. “As in Carmine Falcone’s _son_ , is trying to save the life of someone who _repeatedly_  tried to end his father’s? And forced his resignation as Don?”

”Mario doesn’t take after his father, he just sees a patient who needs help.” Jim notices Ed fidget where he stands, still not assured. “We don’t have a choice.”

”Forgive me if I don’t have as much faith in him as you seem to.” Edward looks up and down the vacant hall, the stench of hospital air seeping through his nostrils. He had never been a fan of hospitals, and Gotham General wasn’t known for being in its prime. He had helped Oswald through one gunshot wound, he could another, although that time had been superficial and an easy repair. He vaguely recollected Jim telling him over the phone that Oswald had been shot in the abdomen.

”You can’t go after Tetch, Nygma.” Jim invaded his thoughts, forcing him to meet the detective’s gaze with a slanted glare.

”Why’s that, Detective?”

”He’s in police custody, he needs professional _help_ , Arkham will—”

That forces Edward to take two calculated steps towards Jim, peering down at him through the hood of his glasses. “Yes, because Arkham always does a fine job at recalibrating their inmates.” Ed’s tone picks up in octave, stepping back, flipping a hand into the air, “so then, you shouldn’t be concerned for my animosity towards Tetch, I no longer have a violent bone in my body. Got that all sorted out, certificate and all to prove it.”

”Ed, I’m not your enemy here.”

That prompts a low chuckle from Edward, before turning full-blown, as he animatedly wraps a hand around his stomach, keeling over from the laughter, before stopping to properly realign his stance, running a finger under his eye for added flair.

“I do believe you called me a cop-killing-son-of-a-bitch recently, didn’t you? Quoted in Gotham Gazette, no less. Class act as usual, Jimbo.”

”I’m not your enemy with _this_. I don’t agree with the circumstances of your release from Arkham, or in how much Penguin seems to trust you, but this is how things played out.”

”Thanks to your inadequacies in finding Tetch before this could _play out_.”

Jim raised a hand into the air between them, as a signal to  _stop_. He had stayed to provide an update to Ed about Oswald’s condition, but his patience had waned. He still harboured ill-will towards Ed for Pinkney, for his own arrest, for the _torment_  he’d distilled all over his and Leslie’s lives, but Jim would have to revisit it. Oswald was an actual friend to Ed, perhaps his only one, and it seemed cruel to express his severe disdain for the ex-GCPD employee — even if he was dealing with one of the most sadistically-ill criminals he’d ever come in contact with.

” _Just_ ,” Jim starts, but then realizes for one final time who he’d been talking to, and proceeds to eye Zsasz and Gabriel, mildly irritated that he didn’t have any better options for his next ask, “keep me updated?”

Neither of them nod, forcing the detective to scratch at the back of his neck and release a sigh. He didn’t want to stay here any longer, he needed to change out of his bloody clothes, and wanted to drink the events of the evening away. Jim starts to head back towards the doors they’d come through, finger coming up in remembrance.

”Forgot to mention, once he’s out of surgery, they’re moving him to a private room, third floor, room thirteen. The whole wing’s been emptied. The nurse said you can wait there.”

* * *

Edward had taken to pacing the length of the room Jim had mentioned, for the following six hours, frantically chewing at the ends of his fingers, only finding consolation in the fantasy of Tetch drowning in his own blood.

Gabriel had been stationed outside the door to the floor, warding off any press who had managed to worm their way up to the Mayor’s wing. Zsasz had left to fulfill Edward’s orders, and would call once Tetch was secured at the Sirens. 

There’s a faint sound of wheels squealing outside the room, prompting Ed to rush towards the door, not needing to hold it open as there is already an orderly there to do so. Another orderly is pushing the gurney into the room, another pushing a portable heart monitor with an attached intravenous pump closely behind.

Ed feels a twitch come on from the lack of care either orderly seem to have as they move Oswald from the gurney to the bed, moving his attention towards what he recognizes as a PCA pump, likely injecting Propofol into Oswald’s system.

It’s a daunting feat to find himself standing next to the bed, hazarding a squeeze to Oswald’s hand, finding his friend entirely comatose and unresponsive. It’s almost paralyzing, watching Oswald’s chest raise and fall with the assist of the oxygen mask over his mouth. No longer donned in cashmere, or heavy coats, but a hospital gown instead. Oswald’s not supposed to be this _quiet_ , this unaware, to seem so small, or this debilitated.

After all, Oswald was renowned for many things, being _un_ killable was one.

Mario Calvi enters after the hospital staff have left, confirming the drug of choice keeping Oswald subdued. Edward feels as if he’s watching the scene unfold in a detached manner; the doctor talking about it being _too soon to tell_ , how he doesn’t know if Oswald will _ever wake up_ , can’t give a definitive answer of the _extent to his injuries_ , and all it does is sink Ed  _further_  into mania.

” _The next twenty-four hours are crucial._ ”

Once he’s seen the doctor leave, it forces Edward to evaluate present circumstances, realizing dawn was just around the bend. He needed to kill Tetch. He’d need to prepare _something_  to appease the press and general populace. He’d need to arrange for an interim mayor. He needed to _kill_  Tetch. He should have someone pick up a suit from the manor. He needed to make the room look less drab. _He needed to kill Tetch._

The only sounds in the room other than the vortex of his own thoughts come from the machine next to the bed, and the breaths Oswald was being aided to take.

He found himself unconsciously running his fingers through Oswald’s hair, thoughts still whirling, as he heard the hospital room door open. Retracting his hands from the bedside, and turning to find Isabella entering with a bouquet of lilies, already placed in a vase. She gave him a faint smile, moving the vase to the center of the nightstand next to the bed.

”You should be getting ready to leave,” Edward started, half a mind still lingering on his newest interpretation of Tetch’s demise. “I said I’d call.”

”I couldn’t sleep.” Isabella replied, moving to stand next to him and palming at the stress in Edward’s shoulders. “I needed to be here. The conference is still a few days away.”

She was _too_ kind, tragically out of depth in her understanding of _where_  Ed’s mind was. He couldn’t focus on her supportive gesture, being there for him was a part of being a _couple_ , but that wasn’t a factor right then. He needed to _kill_  Tetch, Isabella being there was like a preventative measure against a total lapse into psychosis.

His cell phone starts to ring loudly, as he frantically pulled it from his pocket. He begins a circle around the room as Isabella watches him, starting a mantra of ‘ _yes’s_ ’ in response to the caller.

”Tell Miss Kean she doesn’t have a _choice._ ” Edward cautioned into the phone. “By proxy, she listens to me— I don’t _care._ I’ll deal with both issues once I’m there.”

There’s a snap of the phone shutting, effectively cutting off other concerns Zsasz had. He felt like there was a new knot in his stomach, twisting against the confines of its lining, causing the room to sway. _Could he leave?_  There was a chance things could deteriorate with Oswald’s health, he should _be there_ , since he hadn’t been there—

Isabella found herself next to Edward, giving him a distraction with a tight grip against his wrist. He snapped back on reflex, looking at her as if he’d forgotten she was even there.

”I can stay.” Isabella offers, peering over at the hospital bed. “I’ll call you if anything changes.” She notices Ed beginning to open his mouth, likely to counter her support. “He’s important to you, you go deal with whatever this is.”

Ed nods, clearly not having much choice in the matter. He was reminded of Miss Kringle’s stubbornness, finding his dead girlfriend and this one shared glaringly obvious characteristics and traits the more time passed. 

“Ed, be careful.” Isabella called as he moved to the exit, as she slid a chair next to the hospital bed, pulling a book from her tote bag, _‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland’._ She wasn’t in denial over what Edward was about to do, more concerned with the outcomes of clarity that threatened to dim their flame.

Oswald’s visit to the library nearly a day prior had allowed her to acquire a thorough history into Edward’s past, and the newspaper clippings in her purse could attest to that. It also gave her an incentive to look into the Mayor as well, whose previous shady underworld dwellings, and own Arkham incarceration embued a realization she would never _share_  as much in common as those two did.

”I’ll be back in a jiff.” Edward wasn’t entirely sure if the reassurance of his return was more for his unconscious friend, or for Isabella.

* * *

The Sirens is deafeningly quiet as Edward entered, using the rear entrance and coming up through kitchen. He moved into the main lounge, towards the spiral staircase opposite to the bar. Few have been allowed an opportunity to explore the second floor, but it’s Ed’s second visit in the last week. He’d been there previously to ensure that Barbara hadn’t been housing Tabitha and Butch in some act of defiance against the Mayor, and had the privilege of searching the entirety of the building.

It had given him an appreciation for Barbara’s tastes.

He moved towards the room affectionately nicknamed ‘ _The Chop Shop_ ’, rapping his gloved knuckles thrice against the dark oak door. One of the Zsaszettes opened it, motioning with an outstretched arm for him to enter. The room was small, reminded him of stints in isolation at Arkham after being particularly belligerent with the guards.

There was a single low-hanging light in the middle of the room, above the metal chair where Tetch was strapped into, blindfolded and stripped down to boxers and a sleeveless undershirt, as instructed.

A control box was a few feet away, the only wall socket in the room offering a current through the electric cord it was plugged into. Two jumper cables hung over the box, next to the knob that would allow the user to adjust to the desired voltage. Edward broached the entrance into the room, finding Barbara coming towards him from where she’d been perched on the inside, pushing him out and into the railing across from the door.

”Someone forgot to mention you were bringing an escaped convict here.” Barbara thrust a finger into Ed’s chest, forcing him to lean back, the flood light above rotated over them, illuminating the blonde’s fierce glare. “I don’t need this attention.”

”He shot Oswald.” Edward stated calmly, contorting a softening shift to Barbara’s expression.

Oswald had never been at the top of her list of favourites, especially in a world she thought would do better with a woman’s reign, but she hadn’t wanted him dead. Not recently, anyway.

”Fine.” She rescinded, stepping back. “But, my house, my rules. Don’t let him bleed out and don’t kill him here. I want some level of deniability.”

”Agreed.”

* * *

Isabella had been dozing off into the palm of her hand, book threatening to fall from her lap. Suddenly coming to as the door to the hospital room was unceremoniously thrust open, three men traipsing into the center of the room. Each one held varying sizes of potted plants, but looked to be _waiting_ for something or someone, while frozen in place.

”Can I help you?” Isabella tried, getting up slowly from her chair.

A red haired woman entered a couple of moments after them, a smaller pot in her hands as she located the patient in the room, ignoring Isabella as she shoved the vase of flowers into one corner of the nightstand, placing her pot in its stead.

“Place them on the window ledge and get the rest!” The redhead barked out, smile wide as the men wordlessly obliged.

“Who are you?” Isabella asked, after being ignored for several more minutes as the men returned and littered the room with plant life of various proportions. 

“Ivy Pepper, _duh!_ ” The woman replied, twirling on her heel to take count of the stock in the room and adjusting some to rest closer to the bed. “The Mayor is _all_  over the news, I just couldn’t help myself. Doctors are _dumb._ They don’t know how essential plants are to recovery.” She pulled a bottle from a bag she’d thrown into Isabella’s arms, beginning to spray mist around the room.

”Are you a friend of Ed’s?” The solution from the bottle had Isabella feeling dizzy.

Ivy stuck a thumb out in Oswald’s direction, “the one who’s always attached to that one’s hip?” Isabella nodded. “No, haven’t properly introduced myself to either of them. Saw them at the Mayor’s victory celebration, when Ed saved his life and all. I’m a sucker for messy love stories.”

Isabella recalled recent newspaper articles she hadn’t gotten to yet, re-seating herself back into the chair next to the hospital bed as Ivy commanded the men to leave the building, mentioning something about throwing themselves off the nearest rooftop, while Isabella held hope they still had _some_  constraint.

Her chest peaked in emptiness, as had begun around the time when she watched Ed go pale at the mansion. She had watched the wall be constructed between her and Ed, slowly accepting that the ending to their story was hurdling towards them at an accelerated pace. She curled a stray blonde hair around her fingertips, humming a tune to herself as Ivy began to list off the plants in the room and their uses.

* * *

Zsasz peeled back the blindfold from Tetch’s eyes, as his eyes adjusted to the limited lighting in the room. He looked to Zsasz, and then to Edward who had been handing his overcoat and suit jacket to one of the women in the corner of the room.

”Are you my saviour?” Tetch gave a cheshire grin, fidgeting against the restraints as Edward moved towards him, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “I assure you, I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

”Little late for that.” Zsasz perked up, allowing Tetch to watch as Edward pulled the cables from the control box, flipping a switch to power up the device. The light flickered above as the machine thrummed, Edward holding the cables in opposing hands as he twisted the knob to heighten the voltage. Zsasz began to lift the blindfold to reposition it over Tetch’s eyes—

”Wait!” Tetch called out, grin still plastered to his face at the turn of events, amusedly realizing whose company he was presently in. “Oh my, you’re the Mayor’s Chief Of Staff! Who knew his other half could follow such a dark path.”

Edward paused, leering towards him. “ _Oh_ , you rhyme.” He motioned for Zsasz to obscur Tetch’s vision, and then raised the clamps to either side of Tetch’s head, the uncertainty of _when_  causing the other male to twist in the chair. “That’s _cute._ ” Ed sneered, pressing the electrodes into Tetch’s temples, immediately causing his muscles to violently contract against the binds.


	2. Intrepid

Edward chose the present method being used on Tetch for a multitude of reasons, most prominent one being it required no physical exertion on his part, which allowed him to find enough energy for the last three hours, where he should be borderlining exhaustion. Another reason being he could adjust the strength of the shocks, which he’d been steadily increasing the voltage of each subsequent blow. There was also the psychological component, as he thrust the electrodes into either side of one of Tetch’s restrained thighs, finding minimal satisfaction as Tetch reverberated against the chair.

Ed pulled back, watching with a pensive sigh as Tetch’s leg continued to spasm, and then relaxed.

The rhyming  _fool_  still adorned the same smile as when they first started. The shocks weren’t having their intended effect at all. He was sure that Tetch felt insurmountable pain, a few of the shocks would have left fractures. This was all meant for Tetch to feel _degraded_ , to be desperate in between shocks, unaware when the next would come, yet with each one he seemed more amused.

”I could pull off some fingernails,” Zsasz offered, noticing Ed’s irritation. “Or, see if Tabitha’s whip’s around.” He pointedly looked towards Barbara, who’d taken up residence in a chair in the corner of the room.

“No whips here.” Barbara replied with a forced smile. “Why don’t you just take him out front and do away with him?”

”That’s not a bad idea.” Ed agreed, motioning for Zsasz to untie him, safe for his hands.

It was once the assassin tried to get him up from the chair that Ed was rewarded with _what_  he’d done to Tetch. The man slumped forwards, landing with a heavy groan onto the floor in front of him. His limbs seemed to be of no use, paralyzed from mistreatment. His mind —despite that smile he had in place— also seemed stunted. Tetch had tried to make some semblance of words, but they made zero sense. It was as if he’d regressed into speaking like an infant.

Perhaps it was temporary, or permanent, Ed didn’t care. It was _something_. He’d be dead soon anyway, at least he suffered in the meantime. Gabe came forward to pick the man up, circling his large arm around Tetch’s chest, lifting him just enough so Tetch’s feet dragged on the floor as they made their way out of the Sirens into the street. It was mid-morning, but the street was barren, courtesy of Oswald’s men posted at any accessible entrance to the area.

Gabe held him up in front of Ed outside the club, and then proceeded to let him go, causing the man to crumple into a heap on the cement.

“This body part is said with one letter, written with three, yet only two different letters are used, what am I?” Edward asked, tilting towards the other male, in turn earning a bewildered wayward glance.

Tetch seemed to regain some ability to stand, trying to, but Zsasz pushes him into the street, causing him to stumble off of the curb. At the perch of his knees, gaze darting from side to side, blinded by the pain of everything that had occurred during the morning, yet _still_  smiling. He raised his bound hands in some feeble attempt to say, _please,_  as Ed lost all patience.

“Eye. The answer was eye.”

Edward turns, gesticulating an outstretched hand in Gabriel’s direction, prompting the bodyguard to pull his handgun from his waistband, handing it somewhat reluctantly towards him.

”I believe in an eye for an eye, Tetch.” Edward approached, standing at the top of he curb, towering over the other male more than he would’ve normally. “I believe Oswald would say the same.”

Ed raised the firearm, aiming the barrel at Tetch’s abdomen. He pulled the hammer back on the revolver, hearing it click, striking the primer. He slid a finger into the trigger guard, “any last remarks?”

There was a lull, as Tetch seemed only capable of _smiling_ , gears turning, yet nothing being expelled from his lips. Edward shrugged, beginning to pull back on the trigger.

Car tires screeched nearby, interrupting them, causing Edward to relent against the trigger, watching as Harvey Bullock’s infamous car came hurdling around the corner, and down the street towards the Sirens. Behind them, two other police cars followed suite. The car tires squealed as the vehicle came to a grinding halt, Jim already thrusting his car door open before the car had come to a proper stop. The detectives came barreling towards them, guns raised.

”Crud.”

”Put it down, Nygma.” Harvey bellowed. The officers from the other cars came to stand behind their respective vehicle doors, guns trained through rolled-down windows, on Gabriel and Zsasz. “Give us Jervis Tetch, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

Ed flickered between resentment and appreciation, realizing that the _scandal_  of the Mayor’s Chief of Staff killing someone in the street in broad daylight probably wouldn’t have been advantageous. He hadn’t exactly been _thinking_. He was running on fumes and impulse, it was hour twenty-eight since the last time he’d slept. He handed the gun backwards to Gabriel, who uncocked the weapon safely, and placed it back into his waistband.

”All yours, gentleman.” Edward prompted, gesturing towards Tetch. “We were just having a chat.”

Jim lowered his gun, approaching Ed, as Harvey took the lead on recovering Tetch. “For your sake, I hope he doesn’t want to press charges. Last we’d seen him, he’d been dressed and uninjured.”

”He showed up that way.” Ed shrugged, taking interest in scrutinizing his nails as Jim groaned in frustration. “Plus, I don’t think he’ll be pressing any charges.”

”Go back to the hospital, Ed.” Jim threatened. “I heard there were complications and they had to pull Penguin back in for another surgery.”

”What?” Edward’s eyes went wide, hands coming up to clamp down over his various pockets, looking for where his phone had been. Finding it in one of his trouser’s pockets, pulling it out hurriedly, realizing he’d left it on silent _._  

He had eight missed calls from Isabella, and two from Gotham General.

Gabriel was already on the phone with the driver to meet them out front, Zsasz going back into the Sirens to pull the Zsaszettes from the bar.

Jim clapped a hand down onto Ed’s shoulder, grip tight, one part disdain for Ed, one part in actual reassurance. ”He’s resilient, he’ll make it through.”

* * *

“I’m so sorry, I had to tell him, he’s a cop!” Isabella pleaded. “He asked where you were, I said you had mentioned something about Miss Kean, and he was out of here in a flash.”

“That’s not what I’m concerned about right now,” Ed stated, noticing the redhead seated in one of the chairs opposite to the bed, next to a table. He examined the room again, completely confused about _why_  there was so much greenery. They didn’t look like gifts, there were far too many of them, and it was still early. He recognized Lemon Balm on the stand next to Oswald’s bed, as well as Marigold and Rosemary on the windowsill. What might have been Wild Quinine seemed to be fused with a fern he didn’t recognize, then there were the many  _other_ plants he didn’t know at all. He turned to acknowledge the redhead in the room. “Did you do this?”

”Mhm.” Ivy hummed, crossing a leg over the other, bouncing her foot up and down into the air, as Edward took a lap around the room.

”Fascinating,” Ed mused in appreciation, finding he didn’t know what families eighty percent of them came from. “They’re all medicinal?” Ivy nodded. “Where did you get them? Did you smuggle them in?”

”No, silly.” Ivy uncrossed her legs, raising from the chair. Her flats tapped against the floor as she walked over to stand next to Ed. “I made them! I have a knack for this sort of thing, always have. They’re more useful than any sorry excuse for an operation they do on our dear ol’ Mayor. He’ll be ready to go in no time under my care.” She lifted a hand to run her fingers along one of the ferns, “I understand plants, and plants understand me.”

”Did you study somewhere?” Ed questioned, moving to another shrub. “I’m trying to understand this capability of yours.”

”Nope.” Ivy replied, moving back to plop down into the chair, the chair responding with a release of air. “Just a thing I can do.”

”Where are you keeping all your plants right now?”

”In an old abandoned greenhouse on the north side of town.” Ivy swung her legs over one of the armrests. “It’s a shitty place to live, but it’s something.”

”We have a— the Mayor has a greenhouse that doesn’t get used much behind the mansion, if they prove to be as powerful as you think they are, perhaps we can come to an arrangement.” Edward wasn’t sure how fond Oswald would be of an additional occupant in the household, but at the same time he thought Oswald might be appreciative of this _skill_  the woman possessed. “As compensation for your kindness.”

”Honestly, I didn’t do it to get something out of it.” Ivy shrugged. “I just didn’t want your guys story to end so tragically.”

”Still, I think you’d do better with a proper place to work, don’t you?”

”Hey, I’m not saying no!” Ivy smiled broadly, tilting her head back as she glanced over at the empty hospital bed. “Let’s wait until he gets back, and wakes up before we write up any contracts though.” 

* * *

Isabella had grown to feel like an outsider in the hospital room, she’d been grateful that Oswald had returned from his second surgery with little complication, but as the day drew nearer to when she needed to leave for her conference, she was coming to see the size of the rift growing between her and Ed. He hadn’t shared _what_  he’d been doing to prompt a detective from the GCPD hunting him down, and didn’t seem keen on any conversations relating to the subject.

She watched Ed converse animatedly with Ivy, most conversations pertaining to the patient in the room. It wasn’t like she was ignored, her and Ed sat in chairs side-by-side next to the bed, he’d prop an arm around her shoulders while talking towards the redhead, as she maintained the plant life in the room. She tried to ignore their conversations, but would be lying if she didn’t feel jealous of the way Ed spoke so highly of the Mayor, and how Ivy would equally share in their mutual appreciation.

“Gotham wouldn’t be in the state it’s in if it hadn’t been for him,” Ivy states, which makes Isabella think of Oswald’s notorious killing sprees, and running Don Falcone out of the city. She knew Ivy was saying it in a complimentary manner, but to an average citizen with some scope of morality, she only saw him being a reputable role model to criminals who shared the same ideals.

Ed nodded fervently in agreement, making Isabella understand that she was indeed the odd one out in the room. “He’s a visionary, reformed the city entirely under his wing. It’ll be interesting to see what difference he can make as time goes on.”

”Especially with you at his side.” Ivy smiled warmly, looking over her shoulder to watch as Ed removed his arm from around Isabella, eyes wandering to watch over Oswald solemnly.

Conversation turned to Oswald getting out of Arkham, born anew, Ed catching himself before he openly admitted to playing two roles in Gotham to the women in the room; coughing lightly as he explained how being the Mayor offered more control and influence to the decaying state of the city. Especially with all the threats around town, Oswald was capable of handling them in a way normal politicians couldn’t, due to his colourful background.

* * *

The conference comes and goes without cause for concern, Isabella ending back at the hospital to find that Ed hadn’t left. She takes up the seat still situated next to him. The bags underneath his eyes, accompanied with how they were ringed with red, and how he was still wearing the same clothes from the night of the dinner, indicated to her he likely hadn’t slept.

Ivy was presently sprawled out, napping in the chair she’d claimed, a large knit blanket covering her.

“Ed? You should go home.” Isabella takes a mental picture of Ed’s disheveled state, from the tie loose against his chest, to his normally flawlessly styled hair curly and coming undone.

He grumbled out _something_  as a question pertaining to how her weekend had gone, Isabella explaining it hadn’t been very interesting and Ed likely didn’t want to hear about it.

”Tell me all about it.” Ed encouraged, needing the distraction as he leaned to stretch against the backrest.

So Isabella does, leaving out very little, from the food she ate, to the shows she went to, to how dark the drive had been. She finalizes it with a question, “if you’ve been here the whole time, who’s running City Hall?”

”Tarquin Stemmel.” Ed answers, not that she’d know who he was. “He’s an effective deputy, even if he’s a little slow, and seems to need constant affirmation. He calls me at least twenty times a day—“ Ed’s phone starts to ring in his pocket as if on cue, pulling a sigh as he confirms the caller ID, “speak of the Devil and he shall appear.” Ed raises from his chair, moving out to the hallway to take the call.

One of the nurses comes in as Ed leaves, moving to the side of the bed, and beginning to adjust the anesthesia pump.

”I’m just going to try to rouse him, to see if he’s capable of breathing on his own, okay?” The nurse states, looking over to Isabella. “He’ll be extremely lethargic, maybe a little combative.”

The blonde nods, wondering if she should find Ed to come back, but decides against it. He needed a break, perhaps this was something he’d already witnessed while she’d been gone.

It takes ten minutes before there’s movement, at first slow and enervated, until there’s thrashing, and Oswald’s trying to yank the oxygen mask from his mouth, looking wildly around the room. Then the pain sets in, forcing him to relax, the dawning realization of _where_ he was, and _who_ was at his bedside hitting him like a ton of bricks.

” _You._ ” Oswald’s voice is cracky and weak, but Isabella nods in response. “I— Ed— _You_.”

”He’s just outside.” Isabella comforts, as the nurse begins to increase the dosage on the machine.

Oswald begins a mantra of incoherent mumbling, something that sounds like _‘you took him away’_ , and then Isabella catching the tail end of it before the Mayor conked out entirely. ” _I love him._ ”

Isabella blinks, once, twice, thrice, as Ed re-enters the room, questioning the nurse if there is any improvement.

Ed sinks back into the seat next to the bed, looking over to meet Isabella’s stunned gaze, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Isabella replies, repeating it the second time more for herself.

She had known from the moment Oswald tried to manipulate her out of Ed’s life there was something more to _why,_ now she had confirmation.

However, it’s through the weeks that follow, continuing to listen to Ed _gush_  about Oswald’s conquests, watching how concerned he is whenever the nurse or doctor come in, biting at his nails in anticipation and worry, that she understands. In how he talks of how he looks forward to all they could share with one another in their reign over Gotham, in those moments sometimes finding him solely talking to Oswald as if there’s no one else in the room.

All of it making Isabella realize Ed loves him too, even if Ed was ingenuously oblivious to it.

* * *

”When you think of me, or us, what comes to mind?” Isabella questioned, at the end of the third week, keeping her voice steady against the emotion she truly feels. She had come to a level of acceptance with the situation around her, and now she needed to tread lightly to reach its cusp.

Ed’s nose twitched in concentration. “Well, it’s you, it’s normal,” his brows furrowed, “it feels safe.”

”Is that how you want to live your life? In a safe space?” Isabella held up a hand to silence him before he could answer her rhetorical question. “Nothing in the last month has shown me that.”

The conversations between Ed and Ivy, the ones where Ed would talk with Oswald, thinking Isabella was asleep, it was all indicative of the type of life he wanted to live, one filled with carnage and havoc for those who threatened it.

”That’s not true. I’m not that person—”

”Does Oswald make you feel safe?”

That pulled a deeper look of confusion from Edward, finding no clear path to the conversation. “What? No—yes, not in the same way.”

”The safety net you have with me is convoluted in guilt and despair. You see a second chance, as if _this_ is the life you deserve, but I’m a hindrance to you.”

”You’re not a hindrance, I’m in love with you,” except they both caught Ed’s uncertainty in the way he stressed the second half, almost sounding like a rehearsed verse.

“You’re in love with an idea. You can’t even say it without sounding unsure.” Isabella pulled the newspaper clippings from her bag, laying them in his lap. She crouched down onto her knees next to the chair, laying a hand against the armrest as Edward flipped through them. “The day of the dinner I looked into you. Admittedly, I was nervous and terrified, but I couldn’t deny this pull I felt for you. I took these stories as events of the past, things that weren’t relevant to the present day Edward Nygma.”

Isabella tilted her weight onto the balls of her feet, smoothing out her full-length skirt as she sat on the hospital floor, maybe _too_ close to one of Ivy’s plants. “I’m not Kristen Kringle, despite our passing resemblance. I may have an affinity for riddles, wine, and a particular penchant for organization that you find appealing, but there’s nothing safe about us, you, or this life you want to involve me in.”

”That’s not true, I can keep you safe, we—” Edward pointed between him and the still subdued Mayor, a few of the clippings falling out of his hands, “—can keep you safe.” It sounded like childish pleading, words spilling out in a higher pitch than normal. “Things are different.”

“I doubt that very much,” Isabella chuckled. ”Can you tell me what you were doing the first night the Mayor was in the hospital?”

Edward shifted in his seat, looking down at the remainder of the clippings. “I can’t.”

”But you could tell him,” Isabella tilted her head, leaning upwards to field his line of sight, to have Edward acknowledge the statement with a nod. “I believe this part of you isn’t ever going to go away, and I would simply stand in the way. By being that blockade, we were doomed from the start. I can’t begin to understand the circumstances involved with Kristen Kringle’s death, but it’s enough to concern me. You aren’t meant to relive this, you’ve already seen its end, _my_  end. You’re not built for a dull life. You had _years_  of that already.”

Isabella attempted a comforting gesture by gripping at his wrist. “Ed, I need you to focus on this next part,” which effectively pulled a slow nod. “I’ve only ever had books to define love for me, but this last month I’ve learned so much more. You’ve shown me how love means putting someone else’s needs above your own.”

There’s a strain to her voice as she continues, “you helped me understand that it’s not important to have someone who matches you entirely in similarities, but matches you in their own uniqueness. Someone who you can depend on in ways I can’t supply. Someone who you look up to, but still see as an equal. That you need to have someone who _challenges_ you, motivates you, inspires you, understands you in all regards. That the things that would likely destroy us, or that I would run away from—” Isabella wags a finger between them, “—would probably only make the two of you—“ she gestures between him and Oswald, “—stronger. Because it’s not through  _our_  relationship that I’ve been able to increase my capacity for understanding love, it’s seeing how enamoured you are with him that I’ve been able to.”

”I—”

”You aren’t meant to keep secrets when you’re with someone, but you would have to with me. There are thoughts or ideas you might have, that I don’t have the capacity to fulfill or the willingness to allow you to explore.” Isabella pressed through, ignoring Ed’s interjection. Edward still looked hopelessly confused, perhaps more frustrated now, as he didn’t seem capable of responding to her spiel as she finished. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

"No, I can’t say I do."

"Let me try something else," Isabella had ample for patience for him. "If I had died, you wouldn't have responded in the same way—"

"Of course I would have!"

"Okay, perhaps that was the wrong way to start. I don't doubt you would do everything imaginable to avenge me, but you would eventually overcome your grief, you'd be able to move on. You've done it once before, and with the support you have now, it would be even easier." Isabella smiled, trying to assure him this was all a hypothetical. "But, Oswald— just the idea of him being injured, not even _dead_ , drove you into this... sadness. If he had died, where would it have left you?”

The question made the whold world tilt. It caused a derailment of seismic proportions, all of Isabella’s previous comments circling him, repeating loudly against his ear. It wasn’t a matter of Gotham being without its King that struck such a cord within Ed, it was the acknowledgment that a life without Oswald felt _empty_ _._ He had watched all of Oswald’s progress, at one point from afar, now from being up close. He’d taken him in, asking little in return. Isabella’s attempt to explain _why_  she and him weren’t meant to be was beginning to align in Ed’s mind. A life without the greatest mentor and friend he could ever ask for, “—it would have destroyed me.”

Isabella smiled, thankful she didn’t need to find another way to explain. “I don’t regret meeting you, I never will. Now that we’ve crossed paths, I can see we’re meant for alternative destinations.” Isabella rested her palm against Ed’s cheek. “You need to come to terms with what you want, for yourself, but it’s not me.”

”How can you be so sure?”

”Because I will never know you, or understand you, like Oswald does. I’ve _tried_.” Isabella sighed. “I even had this thought that if I dyed my hair, and found some of Kristen Kringle’s old clothes it would bring us closer together.” She chuckled, remembering she still had the red hair dye in her bathroom at home. “That wouldn’t have been fair to you, it wouldn’t have been productive. I think the two of you are meant to prevail, I can’t get in the way of that. Being in your life would only continue to be a disruption.”

”Is this supposed to be a goodbye?” Ed asks, not needing much of an answer.

”Yes, Edward.” Isabella offers anyway, relinquishing her grip on his arm, and standing from the floor. “Take care of one another, okay?”

She didn’t wait for him to respond, collecting her belongings, and biding adieu to Ivy who was avidly pretending to be asleep. Ed ruminated over Isabella’s words, knowing how much truth there was to them, as he’d been obtuse to the topic since the day he’d met her. Before that day, he’d grasped that he _felt_  something more than admiration and appreciation for Oswald, just hadn’t been sure how to act on it, wasn’t even sure if it was logical, or if it would even be something the Mayor could reciprocate. Rejection wasn’t something he coped well with.

”Do _you_  think there’s something between us?” Ed asks Ivy, who’d taken up painting her nails after coming out of her act of snoozing.

”Everyone in Gotham thinks there is.” Not even skipping a beat in her confirmation, as Ivy holds her painted nails into the air in front of her, bringing them back to blow on them. “You two have been fuelling Gotham Gazette’s gossip page for weeks.”

* * *

In the fourth week, Mario decides to remove the ventilator, as well as greatly decrease the level of anesthesia. They’d been slowly bringing Oswald out of the induced coma once a week to ensure he’d be able to withstand it. Mario seems surprised that he’s made it this long, prompting Ivy to take all the credit. Mario humours the room by allowing her to take onus.

After running some basic neurological tests, the doctor leaves him in Ed and Ivy’s care.

Oswald’s strangely quiet, taking in the room and its occupants, eyeing Ivy suspiciously. He breathes in deeply, the aroma of all the plants in the room spurring a coughing fit. “This room is nauseating.” The pain from coughing begins to resonate with him, rehashing the memories of the night at the Founders’ Dinner, causing a tremor of rage. “Where is that rhyming lunatic?”

”Arkham.” Ed replies, becoming acutely aware that Oswald actually being alert, wasn’t a dream. He’d found in the week since Isabella had been gone, it had caused more agony than any of the weeks prior. It wasn’t as if he’d lost hope entirely, but he had started to. Mario had discussed long-term options a day before, bringing up hospice care, which seemed _so_  absurd, considering the improved lung and brain functioning, they couldn’t give up.

“That’s too bad.” Oswald begins to cross his arms, but the spread of sheer agony prevents him from doing so.

”We kidnapped him briefly.” Ed explains, not really wanting this to be the first conversation they have. He’s aware he’s stopped looking in Oswald’s direction at some point, choosing to bore a hole through the top of his hands resting against his thighs. He’s still worried Oswald’s not really awake, worried that getting up from the chair, or any general shift to the room would revert everything back to how it had been for the last thirty days.

”Ed?” Oswald calls, wanting to reach out, but containing himself from doing so.

“I-I can’t begin to fathom a life without you in it.” Ed starts, allowing his voice to crack, completely uncharacteristic of his normal composure, but it needed to be said. He was overwhelmed with the recognition that Oswald was _alive_ , knowing he needed that certainty more than ever after Isabella had helped him understand _why. “_ It’s been a terrible month.”

”Same. In case you didn’t know, I got shot four weeks ago.” Oswald muttered sarcastically, lifting to shrug his shoulders, the simple movement causing him more pain. Oswald curled his fingers, digging his nails into his palm to aid as a distraction.

Edward laughed, hopelessly content that Oswald still had his humour, yet Ed’s  _pained_  expression betrayed him, still in disbelief that Oswald was _okay_ , that this was behind them, but there were new issues to fix. He tugged at Oswald’s wrist mindlessly, pulling apart the fist he had clenched, using one hand to lace their fingers, while the other hand started to trace the length of Oswald’s arm. “I think it’s in our best interests you don’t attend events by yourself.”

”What difference would it have made? Would you have gotten in the way again?” Oswald questioned, the nod he received as a reply instantly causing him to tear at the idea of Ed being shot, “there is no variation of this where I would have wanted to trade places with you.”

”If I had been there, it wouldn’t have been up to you.”

”Given the outcome, I’m glad you weren’t there.”

”Os—”

”I recall you saying you had a date that night.” Oswald voiced bitterly, blissfully enjoying Ed’s ministrations against his skin, despite the accompanying dull ache in his chest. “How’d that go?”

”Interrupted, clearly.”

”My apologies,” although the lack of sincerity was abundantly clear in Oswald’s tone. “Where is she? Another conference?”

”No, I’m not sure where she is.” Ed replied. “We broke up.”

Oswald made an ‘ _o_ ’ with his lips,  _attempting_  not to be completely elated by the news. After all, he’d been thinking of means to dispose of her before he’d been shot. One less thing to be concerned with now.

“Oswald, you’re smiling.”

“Am not.”

”You are.” The smile is what Ed uses to piece together all that had been _missing_ , things Oswald had _tried_  to convey before, but had stopped himself. It was making Ed flustered, unsure how to give Oswald certainty that their sentiments were one in the same. “Do you know what object permanence is?” Oswald starts to shake his head, _‘no_ ’ beginning to fall from his lips, but Ed’s already spiralling in his explanation, “well it’s the idea that an object doesn’t just vanish when you can no longer see it. It’s something as babies we can’t tell until around eight or nine months, but as an adult, you could say if you have a bond with someone—“ Ed stops on his tangent, mumbling under his breath.

” _What?_ ” Oswald grumbled, confused from the choice of topic to where Ed had stopped.

”What did the paper clip say to the magnet? Wait no, that was incredibly juvenile. I keep you safe, I keep you fine— _no_ , that’s not—“

Ivy bursts out into laughter, apologizing profusely as she gains a glare from both men, taking this chance to vacate the room before she had to endure more.

”Did you just—“ Oswald’s momentarily stunned after Ivy leaves, as Ed’s resorts to talking to himself. Oswald’s realizing how erratic Ed’s breathing is, as he spouts out a fact about _codependency_. “Ed, _stop_. Look at me.” It takes what seems like an eternity, but Ed eventually meets his gaze. “ _Relax_. What are you trying to say?” Oswald’s severely exhausted from just waking up for the first time in weeks, that being bombarded with riddles and facts, and needing to soothe Ed was not helping.

”I don’t know,” Edward’s shoulders slump forward, bringing the hand that had been entwined with Oswald’s into a fist against his lips. “I don’t know what any of this means.”

”Well, what is the end goal?”

”Us.”

”What do you mean, _us?_ ” Oswald’s petrified, not wanting to press any buttons to scare Ed off, or appear to manipulate the conversation in any way. It’s not up to him to make this decision, he’d already come to terms with it on his end.

”I don’t... know, yet.”

”Then why bring it up?”

”Because I want to understand it, _with_  you, I want the time to make sense of it.”

Oswald’s gaze softened, chest beginning to feel absurdly tight. “I have all the love and time in the world for you, Ed.”

Ed’s brows fold inwards, pointing a finger to himself and mouthing ‘ _me?’_ Oswald nods, eyes half-closed from drowsiness, not immediately realizing that Ed is pulling at the bar of the hospital bed, lowering it to allow him to slowly climb next to him.

”What are you doing?” Oswald protested, as he’s lightly shifted. Ed laces an arm around the back of his neck, leaning in to rest his cheek onto Oswald’s collarbone.

“Just let me have this.”

_How could he ever deny him?_

“Did you at least try to kill him?” Oswald mumbles after a few minutes, pressing his chin to the top of Edward’s head as he nuzzled deeper into the crook of Oswald’s neck. 

“Nearly did, but Jimbo showed up.” Edward’s breath ghosted against his neck, sending a shiver down Oswald’s spine. Ed reached down to pull the spare bedsheet from the end of the bed to cover both of them. Ed draped an arm over Oswald’s chest, running a hand along his side to find where his opposite hand lay, interlocking their fingers. He dragged that hand up to rest on top of the pillow.

It was all so intimate, intoxicating, _dizzying_. The lack of sleep from the last month was short-circuiting Ed’s wearied senses, finding solace in listening to Oswald being able to breathe on his own, as if it was the most beautiful song he’d ever heard.

Oswald pressed his lips to the top of Ed’s head, finding no will to restrain himself from doing so. Ed seemed particularly done in, more than he’d ever seen him, and he wanted to do anything he could to comfort him.

”That one always seems to pick the most inopportune moments to interrupt.”

Edward shifted against the hospital bed, noting that his feet dangled at the end, and pulled one leg to cross over Oswald’s thigh. Oswald winced at the flash of discomfort, from the side in which Edward was nestled against, to his more permanent injury. He didn’t want to make a comment of it, was still concerned he was actually in a hypnagogic state that something as frivolous as pain would end all of this far too abruptly.

”This can’t ever happen again.” Ed cooed, lips tantalizingly close to the skin of Oswald’s neck.

”What can’t?” Oswald murmured, eyes sliding shut from the sensation of Ed being so close, his breath so _warm,_  sending him spinning in a way Ed was totally unaware of.

”You getting hurt. I don’t know what I’d do if there was a next time.”

”I have a pretty good idea. A murderous rampage is befitting.”

Ed relaxed, weight pressing down into Oswald as he seemed to be falling asleep.

”Ijustwa...” Ed started, mumbling off towards the end as his body seemed to go lax.

”What?”

”You,” Ed brought himself into alertness, leisurely, but was still very much slurring through the rest of his speech, “if I didn’t make it clear before, you can’t get hurt again... because I need you.”

”I know.” Oswald had yearned desperately for a return of his affections, not realizing it could feel so heavy against his heart. “Go to sleep, Ed.” He was equally tired, even if he had spent the last month asleep. There was still tomorrow, and every day after that.

”Do you understand?”

” _Yes_ , of course I do.” Oswald squeezed at the hand over his own. “Do you?”

”I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~


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